Chapter Text
Chris didn’t do the summer reading.
Why would he? FAE 200 was barely a gen ed in his course schedule, which meant easy tests and even easier homework. He planned on sitting in the back of the huge lecture hall, blending in with the hundreds of other students, and getting an easy A.
And that was exactly what he did on the first day of class, choosing one of the seats at the very back and dumping his bag and his ass down.
The professor looked like a pushover too--tall, even for an elf, and thin. His robes were stuffy and academic, covering him from his neck down to his ankles, and he glided along with an in-human grace, barely even bobbing with each step. His long, pointed ears extended over the top of his head, his straight silver hair falling on either side, and they twitched in irritation as he settled in front of the desk at the front of the lecture hall and turned to observe the clamoring crowd of students.
Chris snorted with a smirk as no one reacted to his entrance, too absorbed in their conversations to acknowledge the elf. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and waited. With a two hundred level course, the professor was probably some un-tenured uptight newbie, ready to explode the moment he wasn’t given the respect he thought he deserved.
The elf’s gaze was calm though, sweeping back and forth across the seats, and Chris shivered as he felt them settle on him for the briefest second before continuing on.
And he felt a chill creep down his spine, and he quickly fixed his posture, sitting up in his seat for a reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
The elf wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore, taking in the rest of the class. He lifted his hands and clapped once, and the sound echoed out over the room, deceptively loud, and it made Chris flinch.
Instantly, everyone’s attention shifted, immediately quieting their conversations into hushed tones before quietly completely.
The elf didn’t even look surprised, like this was exactly what he expected, like he knew the air of authority he carried and he knew that everyone else did too.
“Class,” he said loudly. “My name is Fanawë Eterúna. You can refer to me as Professor, or Professor Fanawë. My pronouns in elvish are--” He cut off into some lilting language, high strung with a song-like timbre. He continued for several seconds, looking slightly bored, like this was routine. “But, since Common does not allow for the nuance of my culture, you may use they/them.”
And Chris barely held back from rolling his eyes.
He should have expected something like this. The class description had been a little flowery--”Anthropology of Relationships Across Races and Cultures.” Chris had grown up in a town with mostly humans, and while the occasional dwarf trader would wander through every few months, Chris and his family kept to their own.
The required reading, Elven Genders and the Intricacy of Nature , told Chris everything he needed to know about the class.
He wouldn’t say he was bigoted. He just preferred the company of people . . . like himself.
“You all had required reading that needed to be done before the beginning of the class,” Professor Fanawë went on, starting to pace back and forth in front of the rows of seats. “And we will begin with a discussion of that literature.”
The classroom was still quiet, even whispering between neighbors had completely disappeared as everyone realized just how serious the professor was. They looked stern, not a hint of a smile, and despite their age being listed as well into the hundreds, not a single crow’s foot had been made in the corners of their eyes.
Chris swallowed hard and sunk down in his seat, doing his best to subtly avoid Professor Fanawë’s piercing gaze.
“Anyone?” Professor Fanawë asked, raising an eyebrow as they reached the end of the small stage and pivoted to pace back towards the other side, their hands clasped behind their back. “No one? Any thoughts? Any at all?”
A few tentative hands went up, scattered across the space, and Chris noticed with a sneer that they were all elves, ears just as pointed as Professor Fanawë’s. Some of them even looked enthusiastic, sitting up in their seats and eager to get on the Professor’s good side on the first day of class.
Professor Fanawë looked them over though, acting as if they didn’t see the elf practically bouncing in her seat in the front row.
And Chris shuddered as their cold, dark gaze settled back on him.
“You,” Professor Fanawë said, and Chris crossed his fingers in some desperate hope that the elf wasn’t referring to him.
Every student turned at once, their chairs all creaking as they looked back and up at Chris, all directed by Professor Fanawë’s gaze. And Chris wanted to disappear, sinking a little lower into his seat and then straightening so he didn’t look so pathetic.
The lecture hall was quiet then, everyone holding their breath and waiting to hear what Chris would say.
Chris swallowed and then cleared his throat. “It, ahem , it was interesting,” he said. It was just something to get the conversation going, right? Surely Professor Fanawë wasn’t looking for something too in depth.
“Louder, please,” Professor Fanawë said, their tone stern, and a few students snickered.
Chris glared at them, frowning as he was made into a spectacle for the class to laugh at. He forced himself to sit up, pushing back his shoulders, and meeting Professor Fanawë’s cold gaze with one of his own.
“I said, it was interesting, Sir ,” he said, loud enough that there was no chance the rest of the class couldn’t hear.
Someone gasped. There was a clatter as a pen hit the floor, and someone cursed under their breath.
Professor Fanawë barely looked fazed, striding back to their desk and flipping the clasps on a briefcase that rested on the top. They opened it, fiddled with the contents, and then pulled out a book. Chris couldn’t make out the title from his seat all the way in the back of the classroom.
“The reading,” Professor Fanawë said, lifting the book up for the entire class to see. It was a small pamphlet, less than a hundred pages, surely, and they flipped through the soft cover pages before snapping it down on the desktop.
Chris refused to let himself back down now.
Professor Fanawë was looking at him again, face still unreadable and stoney. “Your name?”
“Chris,” Chris said. “Chris Marshall.” The other students were looking back and forth between him and the professor, holding their breath and biting their lips.
“Stand, Mx. Marshall,” Professor Fanawë said, motioning with one hand.
Chris squirmed in his seat, wanting to protest. But he couldn’t afford to look weak now. He shoved back his chair, keeping his shoulders back and his head high as he pushed himself to his feet.
“Here,” Professor Fanawë said, gesturing to the stage next to them. “In front of the class, please.”
Chris tightened his jaw, unable to protest as he awkwardly made his way down to dozen or so steps as the class started whispering again. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, every eye on him as he shuffled robotically to the spot that Professor Fanawë had pointed to.
Standing there, under the glare of the spotlights, made Chris realize just how much hotter it was in front of the class. He was sweating almost immediately, tugging at the collar of his shirt as he now shuffled from foot to foot under the scrutiny of the entire class and Professor Fanawë.
The elf was so much taller than Chris had expected. From the back of the class, they looked like a typical tall human, perhaps six, six and half feet. Tall, sure, but nothing out of the normal. Standing in front of them, Chris quickly realized they had to be much taller than that.
They towered over him effortlessly, and Chris had to look up to meet their gaze even though they stood a couple feet away. He swallowed hard, balling his hands into fists.
“The correct way to respectfully address me,” Professor Fanawë said, resting one hand on the book. Their fingers were long and thin, spidery. Not bony, but clearly dexterous and talented, inhuman . “Is ‘Professor’ or some other gender neutral term that is available in Common.”
Chris gritted his teeth, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. He forced himself to nod, just so that he could break eye contact, unable to maintain his defiant facade this close.
“Of course . . . Professor ,” he said.
“Thank you,” Professor Fanawë said and gestured upwards to the seats of all the other students. “Now, tell the class about your reading.”
Chris squinted his eyes against the light, looking up at all his classmates staring down at him. And he swallowed hard when he realized that this was a lot different from his hometown. A lot. Each pair of eyes that stared back at him was inhuman--elves and dwarves and orcs. There were amber and green reflective eyes of tabaxi, and the curled devil horns and demonic eyes of tieflings. There was even a more accessible section, desks partitioned off at the first level, designed with no seats and extra room for wheelchairs and centaur bodies.
In fact, Chris couldn’t find another human in the crowd that was now staring down at him critically. A few of them snickered behind their hands, whispering to each other, and Chris scowled, wanting to snap at them for making fun of him.
This was all Professor Fanawë’s fault.
He kicked his foot against the wood of the stage, shrugging noncommittally. “I don’t know,” he said. “It was good. Interesting. I liked . . . I liked reading about elves.”
Maybe he could smooth this over with a couple of good compliments.
Professor Fanawë just raised an eyebrow. “Did you?” they asked. They slid down behind the desk, sitting down in the seat as elegantly as they walked, crossing one leg over the other knee and pulling the briefcase a little close, angling it so Chris couldn’t see the contents. They cocked their head, looking down their nose at him. “Elaborate.”
And Chris was left standing alone at the center of the stage, in front of everyone, and he was becoming less and less confident that he could bullshit his way through a book report of a book he didn’t actually read.
He took a steadying breath, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest like a child.
“It was interesting,” he said, falling back on what he had been saying before. “I don’t know. I’ve never . . . I’ve never met an elf before.”
Professor Fanawë hummed, resting their chin in their hand, one impossibly long finger settling against their cheek as they studied Chris like a specimen under a glass. “You don’t say?”
Chris had to hold back a sneer at the condescending tone. If the professor wasn’t going to respect him, why the hell would he respect his professor? Still, the entire class was staring at him, and the looming fact that Chris was completely and utterly alone was starting to make his knees weak. He wanted to run back to his chair at the back of the class, out of everyone’s line of sight, keep his head down, and just wait until class was over.
Instead, he shrugged. He just had to put up with Professor Fanawë’s questions. Surely they would lose interest eventually, especially if Chris gave them nothing.
“It was all new information for me,” he said. “Cool stuff.”
Professor Fanawë hummed again, appearing to think for a moment. “‘Cool stuff’,” they repeated, sliding their other hand into their briefcase. Their eyes slid over to study what they were doing. “What sort of ‘cool stuff’ did you learn about my culture?”
Chris gritted his teeth, opening his mouth to give another deadpan answer. Two could play at this fucking game. But he froze, stiffening as he felt something jab between his ass cheeks and into his hole.
It was thin. Wet. Barely a stretch, but the sensation was so foreign that Chris was reaching behind himself to grab at the seat of his pants before he could stop himself.
He blushed hot, sweating even more under the lights, as the intrusion wiggled around, barely an inch inside of him even though it felt like it was reaching places that Chris had never touched before. And he hadn’t. Chris barely touched himself back there to clean himself in the shower, trusting run-off water to do most of the trick, and now this. . . this thing was inside him.
Any words that he had been about to say died in his throat, and all that came out of his open mouth was a choked squeak of alarm.
“Mx. Marshall,” Professor Fanawë said sternly, and Chris snapped his gaze to his professor, looking to them for help. He found no mercy in the dark, elven eyes, and Professor Fanawë just cleared their throat. “ One fact that you learned from your reading, please.”
The intrusion was pushing deeper now, and Chris struggled to return his hands to his sides, unable to hold back his blush at the thought that he had just been clutching his ass like a child that had soiled themself in front of more than a hundred different students, all of them inhuman.
He cleared his throat again, hoping that would give him time to think, but then he felt something else prodding at his hole, joining the first intrusion and stretching him wider.
He let out a gasp, one hand flying to his mouth as he tried to stifle the noise. He had almost fucking moaned in front of the entire class. He was horrified. He wanted to run. He was already clearly in trouble, what else could Professor Fanawë do if he ran out of class now.
“Do I need to repeat the question?” Professor Fanawë said loudly, and the entire class giggled, making Chris blush even more.
He looked pleadingly to the elf, hoping he could convey some sort of understanding about the situation wordlessly. Maybe Professor Fanawë would just let him return to his seat.
The stretch was starting to burn, a third intrusion joining the first two, and Chris’s eyes were watering as he looked at Professor Fanawë, silently begging for mercy. The elf only regarded him coldly, still expecting an answer, and Chris realized this wasn’t going to end until he had been made an example of.
Some half-rate professor on a power trip. This was probably the first class Professor Fanawë had been allowed to teach, and they needed to act all tough and strict so that the rest of the students knew they weren’t joking around about tests and assignments.
Chris swallowed his protests, arm shaking a little as he returned it to his sides, unable to keep his gaze up anymore. He stared down at his shoes, the whispers and giggles of the other students seemingly amplified a hundred times over.
He jolted as the intrusion inside his ass curled, finding a spot inside of him that almost made him collapse. Chris staggered forward a half step, catching himself with a loud gasp. The giggles and laughter increased, and as he stared downwards, he could see the front of his pants growing tight.
His face felt like it was on fire now, the collar of his shirt too tight, and Chris grabbed the hem of his shirt to yank it down over his crotch.
“One. Thing.” Professor Fanawë repeated.
The intrusion was beginning to pump in and out, continuing to hit that spot that almost brought Chris to his knees, and he was horrified that his dick was getting harder. He didn’t dare look up anymore, couldn’t bear the idea that hundreds of eyes were on him, staring at him, laughing at him .
“I--I’m sorry,” Chris managed to choke out, having to squeeze his eyes shut to keep his voice steady. “I . . . I didn’t do the reading. I . . . I don’t know-w- oh !”
The last word cut off in a gasp as a fourth intrusion worked its way inside him. Chris felt like he needed to shit, his muscles spasming around whatever was inside him. His face was hot red, and he didn’t dare move his hands from his crotch.
It felt thick. Big. No, huge . Chris hadn’t even taken shits this big and now it was pumping in and out of him. Fucking him , he realized with a blush. Fucking him in front of the entire class.
He had to bite his lip to hold back his moans, knees drawing together as he shook like a leaf in a windstorm.
Professor Fanawë just made a sound of disapproval, remaining in their seat, still staring down their nose at Chris and his struggling. “That’s what I thought,” they said. “Class, the reading is due by next period. I would suggest you have it done, unlike Mx. Marshall here has demonstrated. Dismissed.”
Chris didn’t dare move as the class exploded into action, gathering their books and collecting their bags, happy that the first class period was cut so short. They chatted with their friends as they all made their way out the lecture hall doors, and Chris just kept his head down, breath shaky and uneven as whatever was inside him continued to fuck his hole, toying with the spot that made him see stars.
In only a couple minutes, the lecture hall was empty, leaving Chris along with Professor Fanawë.
Just as quickly as the intrusion came, it was suddenly pulling out of Chris’s hole, leaving him empty, and he couldn’t help but whimper at how loose he felt. The feeling was completely strange, as as he recovered from the very public humiliation, he realized he could feel some sort of liquid leaking into his underwear, dripping out of his ass.
He wanted to bolt from the room, find the nearest bathroom. Chris’s heart skipped a beat, veins going cold as he thought of every worst scenario. Blood. It surely had to be blood.
His underwear was slowly getting soaked from the back, and his dick was still traitorously hard, soaking the front in the same way.
He shivered as Professor Fanawë stood, stepping towards him. Their shadow fell across the wooden stage, stretching out from them in a menacing intimidation. Chris was struggling to hold back his tears, feeling conflicted as his cock twitched behind his hands and his hole clenched emptily around nothing.
This was a feeling he had never felt before, and as Professor Fanawë reached his side, he forced himself to look up, gasping as the elf towered over him, even more threatening when they were this close. Chris only came up to their ribs, just barely below their chest.
And still, their face betrayed nothing, cold and emotionless, looking down at Chris as if he were more of a bother than an actual student.
“The reading, Mx. Marshall,” Professor Fanawë repeated. “Done by the next class period. Do I make myself clear?”
Chris managed a shaky nod. He was struggling not to squirm, any movement rubbing the sensitive head of his cock against the rough fabric of the front of his underwear, each small sensation threatening to make him gasp or moan.
“Words, please,” Professor Fanawë said, and Chris wanted to sob.
“Yes,” he gasped, unable to hold their gaze and dropping his eyes respectfully to the floor again.
Professor Fanawë cleared their throat, and Chris winced.
“Yes . . . Professor,” he said.
“Good,” Professor Fanawë said, finally turning away from him and returning to their spot behind their desk. They collected their books and papers, tapping everything into a neat pile and tucking it all back into the briefcase. “I want you to share what you really learned with the class as well,” they said. “I expect high marks from you, Mx. Marshall.”
Chris barely managed a nod and another ‘yes, professor,’ taking the turned back as a good dismissal as any and bolting for the back of the class and his bag. It was awkward moving, keeping one hand on the hem of his shirt to keep it down as he struggled to hoist his backpack over his shoulder.
He just wanted to get out of the lecture hall as quickly as possible, get some privacy either in his dorm room or a bathroom.
The back of his underwear still felt suspiciously wet, and Chris winced as it rubbed against his skin as he hurried down the hall.
He spotted the signs for the nearest restroom, just thankful it included the symbol for humans along with the circus of other races, and he ducked into the nearest stall, locking it shut behind him.
It was empty, another sign that luck was on his side, and his ragged breathing echoed off the cold tile around him.
Chris ignored all of that, throwing his backpack on the hook on the wall and jerking down his pants.
His cock swung upwards, slapping against his stomach, and Chris winced as it left a smear of precum on the fabric. Yeah, real subtle.
The cold air on his hard cock had him gasping, sinking onto the toilet as his legs finally gave out. Chris could barely manage to push his pants down further, biting his lip to hold back his whimpers.
Why the fuck was he so hard?! He was throbbing, his heartbeat pulsing between his legs, and as he stared down at himself, it twitched, oozing another glob of precum onto his shirt.
Chris grimaced, reaching down so that he didn’t make an ever bigger, more obvious mess on himself, but he froze with his hand hovering inches away from his cock.
Fuck, no. He couldn’t do this here. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his cock twitch again, rubbing the head across the fabric of his shirt. If he touched himself now, there would be nothing he could do to stop himself from jerking off.
He balled his hand into a fist, forcing himself to grab the waistband of his pants against, raising his hips as he pushed it down.
He expected his underwear to be red, a murder scene. It felt like he had soaked through the back of his jeans just walking here. But to his surprise, it was clean. Wet , but clean. The clear, sticky liquid gummed up the seat of his underwear, clearly something that had come from his ass, and Chris grimaced in disgust.
What the fuck?
What the hell was this?
He couldn’t stop himself from reaching two fingers down, swiping the tips through the warm mess. Lips curled in disgust, he brought it up to his face, inches from his nose, rubbing his thumb through it and then pulling them apart to watch the stretch of it web across the space before breaking with a snap.
Before he realized what he was doing, he was sticking them in his mouth, swiping his tongue over his fingers and sucking them clean.
And then he was immediately recoiling, gagging at the musky, bitter taste, lurching forward as his stomach heaved. His cock just gave another jerk, soaking the bottom of his shirt in precum as he twisted around. He gripped the toilet, clinging to the cold ceramic as he spat into the water, rubbing at the back of his mouth as he tried to get rid of the taste.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, why had he done that?!
He felt like he was going to throw up, and his cock was still painfully hard, demanding his attention.
At least it wasn’t blood.
That’s what Chris told himself. As soon as he was sure he wasn’t going to throw up, he straightened, pushing himself away from the toilet and staggering to his feet.
He needed the privacy of his dorm room. That’s what he needed. He just needed to get back to his dorm room.
He briefly considered removing his underwear, shuddering at the thought of pulling the wet, sticky, quickly-cooling fabric back around his waist, but the thought of soaking through his pants next, looking like he had pissed himself, was a risk Chris wasn’t going to take.
He dragged them back up, grimacing as he tucked his throbbing cock into the waistband of his pants, the head of it just barely peeking over the top, and Chris shoved his shirt down, covering it with a blush and trying not to think about how good it would feel to cum. He could feel it throb against his stomach, still leaking and threatening to make an even bigger mess on his shirt and stomach.
His legs were still shaky as he stumbled out of the stall, not bothering to wash his hands. He just needed to get out, and as quickly as possible.
He kept his head down as he entered the bustling foot traffic of the hall, students heading to their next classes, chatting with their friends and laughing at inside jokes. Chris wanted to yell at them all, stuck in their slow, plodding rate even though he wanted to run back to the safety of his room.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself not to say anything, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than necessary. He burst out of the building, heading straight for the quad and stretch of dormitories on the opposite side of the campus.
The sun was blazing hot overhead, normally great weather that Chris would be taking advantage of, out running or exercising. Now, it made him sweat, his shirt clinging to his back and the insides of his underwear growing wetter.
Chris got halfway across the huge, open stretch of space of the field of neatly trimmed grass before he felt the prod of something against his hole.
He wanted to sob, scream in horror and frustration, but he was aware of the small groups of students around him, lounging on the grass and walking to and from their own classes. Not paying attention to him, not yet .
With a single noise, that could change.
Chris gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move faster, gripping the strap of his backpack in a white knuckled grip.
The touch felt different this time. Thicker. Hotter. More narrowed.
Chris clamped a hand over his mouth as it shoved into his hole. Definitely thicker. The narrowed tip quickly expanded into something bigger, thrusting into him a lot faster than the first time. There was no pretense of teasing or prep.
Christ staggered, the first proper thrust almost sending him to his knees. He caught himself, but just barely, earning a concerned look from a dryad, some green-skinned petite girl who looked as if she wanted to offer him help. Normally, Chris would have openly stared at the way her Illanthyr University branded crop top stretched over the swell of her tits, but now, he didn’t dare stop moving.
His cock jerked in his pants, and Chris’s eyes watered as he almost came on the spot.
He waved over her hand, not trusting himself to open his mouth in case he moaned, and staggered onwards.
This violation was so much different from before, not slow and teasing, as if testing the waters, but instead pounding into him over and over. With each step, Chris could feel the head of his cock wedged in the waistband of his pants slide back and forth, the friction delicious torture.
He couldn’t cum in public. He couldn’t cum in public. He couldn’t fucking cum in public.
Whatever was in his hole punched in, angled perfectly that it jabbed against that sensitive sweet spot inside of him, and that’s what broke Chris.
He flung himself at the nearest bench, draping himself over it before he could collapse bonelessly to the ground. He found himself bent over at the waist, gripping the stone, face to face with the commemorative etching marking the bench as a generous donation from some alum centuries ago as his hips twitched and jerked, humping the air as he continued to get fucked.
It was like it knew where to hit him, thrusting inside over and over at a punishing rate, and Chris stuffed a hand into his mouth, biting down hard to muffle his cries of pleasure.
He couldn’t take it. He was going to cum.
Chris squeezed his eyes shut in one last effort to hold himself back, squealing into his hand as the thing punched inside of him one last time, and he came hard.
A second later, whatever was in his hole slotted itself as deep as possible, the narrow tip wedged so far up into his guts that Chris was terrified there would be a bulge in his stomach, and then suddenly he could feel the soft throb as some liquid was pumped deep inside of him.
Chris’s eyes went wide, and he shot up, bringing his knees together in horror.
His face felt like it was on fire, and as he glanced over at the academic center, the cluster of buildings that made up the rest of the campus, as the next wave of students got out, the huge crowd headed back to the dorms. Headed straight for him.
Chris’s legs felt weak, but he forced himself up. He grimaced as he felt the wet, sticky insides of his shirt hit his stomach, and he didn’t have to look to know that that was his own cum.
He could feel whatever liquid that had been pumped into his ass begin to trickle downwards, and he waddled as quickly as he could, keeping his head down as he made a beeline towards his dorm building.
He couldn’t swipe his student ID fast enough, ducking inside the door as soon as it swung open enough for him to squeeze through. There was someone at the front desk that called a greeting to him, probably had been welcoming first year students all day, but Chris didn’t dare acknowledge them.
He kept his hand up but his face, hiding himself as best as he could.
The elevator made him way too claustrophobic, and Chris couldn’t bear to think of what would happen if he got stuck inside and the strange violation of his asshole came back. He headed towards the stairs instead, gripping the railing tight and pulling himself upwards.
He got halfway up the four full flights before the teasing was back. Not the thrusting, horrible thing that just fucked him in the middle of the quad, but the teasing, careful touches from before. They seemed so much smaller now, and Chris blushed at that thought, feeling the touch trace around his hole.
He clenched, the muscles weak but protesting, and he gasped as he felt whatever the touch was collect the liquid dripping out of his ass and stuff it back inside of him.
It was a small relief, his underwear an already soaked, sticky mess.
It felt like an eternity before Chris was throwing himself into his dorm room, slamming the door shut behind him and bracing himself against it, as if someone was right behind him threatening to break it down.
He was out of breath and sweating, exhausted from just the short walk, but at least the touch had disappeared.
The safety of his dorm room.
He was buzzing, skin tight and itchy, and he almost felt as if he were floating a bit, sort of heady and he struggled to collect himself. For a brief moment, he wanted the touch to come back, to continue playing with his hole.
He blushed hot and shook his head, as if that could get rid of the thoughts.
And then he wondered what it would feel like to have his own fingers down there, trying to replicate the feeling. Chris had never tried anything like that before, and he briefly wondered what position he would have to be in in order to reach--spread on his back with his legs in the air, feet near his face as he strained to get his own fingers inside of him.
His hole clenched at the thought, apparently loving this a lot more than he was.
Chris shook his head, slapping his face a couple times to snap himself out of the fantasy. The nightmare , he corrected himself. He didn’t want this.
Chris almost didn’t want to pull up his shirt to see the damage. He could feel his cum already drying against his skin, congealing into a gross, gummy mess, but he had to get himself out of the ruined clothes.
He dumped his backpack on the floor, not daring to sit down at his desk or on his bed, and gingerly peeled the hem of his shirt up. He had his bottom lip pulled nervously between his teeth, and he whimpered when he finally saw his cock.
The head of it was still trapped in the waistband, rubbed red and irritated, raw and painful looking. The white splatter of his orgasm was splashed against his stomach, all the way up to his ribs, and rubbed into a messy puddle by the fabric of his shirt. As Chris staired, it flexed, winking up at him, and gave another half-hearted squirt of precum.
Chris gasped, shuddering, and with a shaky hand, reached down, hooking a finger in the elastic band of his pants and underwear, and pulled it forward.
His cock flopped down as soon as it wasn’t supported. It wasn’t quite limp, not yet, but it was quickly deflating. The front of his underwear was an absolute mess of precum, the white fabric nearly translucent from it all, and Chris blushed. That had all come from him.
He gingerly let his pants closed, grimacing as he pulled his shirt up over his head. He winced when he wasn’t careful enough, and the cum-soaked fabric dragged across his face. He held his breath, curling his lips in, horrified at the chance that it might get in his mouth.
He tossed his shirt aside, giving a full body shudder, just wanting the feeling away from him.
He kicked off his shoes next and then pulled down his pants with significantly more care.
The back of his underwear was no better than the front, the whole of it completely soaked, and as Chris stood there, he could feel even more liquid starting to drip down his thighs.
It took a weird amount of twisting and squirming, spreading his legs and craning his neck in an effort to see what had happened and what his asshole looked like. Chris wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know. The empty feeling was back, and he blushed each time he clenched down and there was nothing. He felt open. Vulnerable.
He ended up in front of the full body mirror that hung from the back of the door in every dorm room, bent over at his waist and craning his neck to look behind him.
Chris blushed, unable to meet his own gaze in the mirror for a moment, aware of what he looked like in this position. Trying not to think too hard about it, he reached back, bracing a hand on either ass cheek.
He had to take a moment to steady his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and holding back his sobs as hot tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, trickling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin.
And then he steeled his resolve, forcing his eyes back open.
Chris pried his ass open, showing himself off in the mirror, and he was unable to hold back the broken sob of anguish that left his throat when he saw his hole.
He blushed harder when he realized he had never really seen this part of himself. Never really thought about it. He had no ‘before’ image or memory to compare what he was seeing right now to.
Still, his rim was swollen, more red than pink, and it slouched outwards like a puffy mouth. As Chris watched, the muscles flexed, opening it in a gasping gape before pulling back closed, and it pushed out a glob of cloudy liquid. Chris could feel it trickle down even as he watched it, and then he couldn’t take it anymore.
He snatched his hands away, wincing at the squish as his cheeks closed, squeezing his eyes closed as he spun away from the mirror.
If he didn’t see it, it wasn’t true.
Even though the image was burned into the backs of his eyelids.
The buzzing itch right below his skin was getting hard to ignore, and Chris wanted nothing more than to scratch at it. He needed to keep his hands busy.
He fumbled for a towel and his shower stuff, reassuring himself that wrapping his towel high around his ribs to hide the mess of his own cum was normal and that he looked fine .
He would feel better as soon as he was clean, and then he could forget all of this ever happened.